One bridge too far, p.1
Haunted Bond, page 1
HAUNTED BOND
A CURSED LEGACIES SEQUEL
CURSED LEGACIES
MORGAN B LEE
Copyright © 2025 by Morgan B Lee
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is coincidental. Any trademarks mentioned are the property of their respective owners, and their use does not imply endorsement.
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NO AI TRAINING.
CONTENTS
Join My Reading Group
Read Before You Read
Preface
Prologue
1. Heidi
2. Heidi
3. Heidi
4. Heidi
5. Heidi
6. Heidi
7. Heidi
8. Kaenon
9. Kaenon
10. Heidi
11. Heidi
12. Zak
13. Asher
14. Asher
15. Ian
16. Ian
17. Heidi
18. Heidi
19. Asher
20. Kaenon
21. Zak
22. Heidi
23. Heidi
24. Heidi
25. Kaenon
26. Heidi
27. Heidi
28. Ian
29. Ian
30. Asher
31. Heidi
32. Ian
33. Ian
34. Heidi
35. Asher
36. Zak
37. Asher
38. Asher
39. Heidi
40. Heidi
41. Heidi
42. Asher
43. Asher
44. Ian
Epilogue
About the Author
JOIN MY READING GROUP
Hello, darling.
Once again, if you want to join a Facebook group with other Why Choose fans who are enjoying this series, here’s the link to Morgan B Lee’s Why Choose Fiends.
READ BEFORE YOU READ
You know the drill. Here is this sequel’s menu trigger warning list:
Aggressive ex-partner violence
Body image issues
Death, grief, & bereavement
Explicit sexual content (including group sex—no M/M or F/F)
Explicit stalking/obsessive behavior (MMC stalking FMC)
Graphic violence & gore
Harassment & online bullying
Implied child endangerment & trafficking themes (in the past)
Implied threat of sexual assault (no assault takes place)
Mentions of kidnapping, captivity, & confinement
Mentions of domestic & family abuse
PTSD & trauma
Strong language
PREFACE
Dear lovely souls,
This was initially meant to be a 30,000-word novella wrapping up the Cursed Legacies world from the perspective of Everett’s sister. But Heidi’s story had more to say, so it quadrupled in size.
This book was written for anyone who enjoyed the Cursed Legacies series and wants just a little more time in this world, with a few familiar faces but a very different pacing and plot.
The guys fall fast and hard—in fact, a couple of them are already smitten before page one—but even though the plot moves quickly, it’s a very slow burn. We’re talking almost-last-chapter slow, but I promise the spice is there.
Will there be M/M, you ask? No. The attention stays on the FMC. Anyone who can’t stand not having M/M in their why-choose books should run now (otherwise you will be screaming at the guys to just kiss already). Anyone who doesn’t want the MMCs so much as grazing hands should possibly also skip.
Finally, as with the rest of the series, I intentionally chose a faster pace in some areas than others (hello, not dragging out the ending).
This is very much a quick, comforting last wave to this world before it’s on to the Next Big Thing. I hope you enjoy it! <3
P.S. Please don’t forget to read the trigger warnings and read safely, because this one may be a doozy.
PROLOGUE
ASHER
"What a valiant little fighter this one is. Don't you think, Koa?"
"He is, my love."
"Bow your head, boy. We will make you as mighty as a phoenix rising from ashes."
___
"You know I'm proud of you getting into the Legacy Council's hunter training program, Asher. I know that's hard to do, and you should celebrate, but…you can't be here. Your father will be back any minute, and I can't stand seeing you fight."
"I'm always fighting, Mom. It's all I do. And why the hell is that fucker back again?"
"Please just drop it. Things are different this time.”
"Bullshit. Is he still hitting you?"
"That's enough! I don't want to deal with this right now.”
"I swear on everything holy, if he hurts you again, I'll put a godsdamned bullet in his head. Scratch that, the next time I so much as see him, I’ll—"
"Asher, just go. It's what's best for everyone."
"Mom—"
"I said, get out!"
___
"This one's got a big mouth, sir. I was just teaching him a lesson for shit-talking the Council."
"By gutting him in his sleep? I knew you had a bad habit of hazing atypical casters, Davies, but I didn't know you were such a coward. Attacking an unarmed fellow hunter-in-training in his sleep just because of his personal opinions? Cut the shit, we both know this is really because the others prefer his leadership to yours. Are you all right, Douglas?"
"Can't complain now that my innards are back inside me, sir."
"Sir, he was—"
"Get out, Davies. And don't bother showing up for the hellhound assignation tomorrow. You're a disgrace to this program. Douglas, get your rest. As you know, a hellhound won't imprint on a hunter unless it's one they'd place all their infernal lives on the line for. If you want a strong hellhound, you've gotta be strong tomorrow."
___
"You'll be sitting out this hunt, Douglas. Take a few days to cope at the training facility."
"You're benching me? All due respect, sir, that's fucking insane. The others can't track this target without my sixth sense, and I'm not going to let you send them on a damned suicide mission."
"You and I both know you're in no state to hunt."
"What the hell makes you think—"
"I heard about your mother and what that DeLune bastard did to your father for it. You need time to grieve, kid. Go to her funeral, take some time off, and get your head right."
"My head's fine, I'm not a kid anymore, and you know what? Fuck this. I don't need you assigning my targets anymore, anyway. Everyone knows I get the job done, whether it's the Legacy Council hiring me or some other fat cat. I'm going with the others."
"Where are you going? Get your ass back here. You go rogue as a bounty hunter, Douglas, and you'll last one month, tops. Don't you dare storm out of my office! Mark my words, you’ll get yourself killed out there!"
“Consider them marked and ignored, sir.”
___
"Ima sangfluir! Let me out! Sequi mi leanthin! You damned leprechaun, let me out! Liberathe debeo ech bring her back!"
"Has he been like this all day?"
"All week. Look, Frost, I get that he's your quintet member and all, but…that fae's brain is scrambled. He tried to kill Lillian the last time she stepped in here. Don't try to scare me with that look—I'm not saying give up on the zombie-raiser. I'm just saying, don't let Lillian visit him anymore unless you or I come with her."
"Fine. Force feed him again and tell your men we'll leave within the hour."
___
"Medic! Medic! Everyone, move out of the way—we've got another one straight from the arena combat zone!"
"Gods, this battle is fucking brutal."
"Here. Set him down."
"Wait…is that the Asher Douglas? Holy hell, I almost didn't recognize him. What happened?"
"Bullet to the brain, blood loss, and gods know what else. It's severe. Only reason his heart's still beating at all is because that hellhound of his protected his body 'til it got offed."
"Damn it, the swelling is worse than I thought. We may need a craniectomy over here."
"Hand me that elixir. Quickly."
"More pressure!"
"We're losing him!"
___
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"But he's stable now?"
"Yes, Mr. Frost. All signs of life are there."
"Can he hear us?"
"We're not sure. He's been comatose for days, but…"
"Spit it out, Doctor."
"I've seen cases this severe once or twice back while I was working as a combat medic at the Divide. Even with top healers doing their best to magically repair a body and wiping away all traces of
"But he will wake up and make a full recovery?"
"We are very optimistic in that regard. However, he may remain under for some time. Weeks, or possibly months. I understand that you've rather stubbornly stepped in as Mr. Douglas's guarantor."
"He's a friend, and I owe him."
"He's very fortunate to be alive. The gods must have favored him in that nightmarish battle. Now, we would be happy to continue caring for him here, in our inpatient facility, only…with so many recovering from the Battle of the Citadel, all hospitals are running low on beds. If you'd rather he be watched over in a private residence until his condition improves, I could help you arrange it. Twenty-four-seven care from a private team of healers and nurses is usually quite expensive, but—"
"Give me your recommendations for the very best of them."
My head feels like it's stuffed with cotton.
And what the hell is up my nose and down my throat? A feeding tube?
I try to lift a hand to feel what's strapped to my face, but it's as if all muscles have been removed from my limbs. They must've been taken from my face, too, because I can't open my eyes.
Soft beeping picks up its pace somewhere nearby. I can sense that my numb, annoyingly weak body rests on a firm bed. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that those vague hallucinations circling inside my damaged head must've actually happened. This must be wherever Frost put me while I was under.
I try to open my heavy eyelids again. And again.
Seriously, were they cemented shut? Any fucking day now would be nice.
"He's regaining consciousness," an older man's voice whispers nearby.
My eyes don't get the telltale glow since they're shut, but I feel someone using magic beside me. I've been able to pick up on unique magical signatures ever since Koa decided to make me an atypical caster. It's a sixth sense that identifies magic, turning it into something like a flavor that my brain automatically codifies. Whoever this caster is, I could now track him by his magic alone, even if he were miles away.
"Mr. Douglas?" the caster checks gently, still using common magic. "My name is Doctor Stant. You've been under for quite some time."
"Coma," I try to say to show I get the gist of what's going on.
It comes out as something between a grunt and a dumbass-sounding croak.
"Yes, that's very good, Mr. Douglas," the doctor says, like he's praising a toddler who drew a picture to tape onto his fridge.
Motherfucker, don't patronize me.
If I can't form words or open my eyes, I'm a lot more fucked up than I realized.
"He's responsive!" a woman gasps nearby. "Doctor Stant, should I send a message to let Mr. Frost know he seems to be truly waking this time?"
"Yes, thank you. Now, Mr. Douglas, please grunt again if you understand me."
It feels a lot like barking on command, but I grunt anyway.
"Excellent. Well, Asher, I'm afraid you've been in a coma for nearly four months now, ever since the Battle of the Citadel was won. As a result, you've lost a fair amount of muscle mass, so it may take you a little bit of time and hard work to return to normal. Everett Frost has ensured you have the best of the best here to help you get up and going again, but…well, we're not you. Healing's hard for some of us," he chuckles.
I let myself absorb all of that. That felt like a long-ass nap, not months passing me by. Nearly four months after shit went down with the Entity would put us at…what, late November? Damn.
Whatever. If it takes even longer to heal and rebuild my muscles and shit, I can handle it. At least I'm still alive.
Then my stomach plummets.
"Werrsmuhown?" I try to demand, slurring around the tube running down my throat.
The doctor is confused. "I'm not sure what you're—"
I fight harder to open my eyes and sit up, my heart slamming inside my chest. The nearby beeping goes haywire. I manage to get one eye open and start to sit in bed before sudden weakness makes me slump back. Exhaustion turns my breathing ragged, dragging my eyelids shut again.
Pretty sure my lungs are giving out.
"Cathy? We may need oxygen in here again," Doctor Stant calls, alarmed. "Mr. Douglas, please try to relax. You're still very unwell, and you shouldn't be—"
"Dev," I force out, wheezing through the panic and my weakened lungs. "Where'smyhound?"
"Oh, your hellhound!" He pauses as if trying to pick his words carefully. The pain starts to choke me before he even gets it out. "I'm afraid he hasn't respawned from the Battle of the Citadel. One of your bounty hunter friends buried his fangs and promised to send updates if there were any, but so far…"
No.
No, he isn't gone for good.
Can't be. He'll be back.
Someone is moving whatever's on my face until much-needed oxygen suddenly flows into my lungs. I'm pretty sure I feel a needle slide into my arm. Vaguely, I hear the doctor apologizing, telling me I'm in a delicate state still and they're just trying to help by giving me anesthesia, blah, blah, blah.
He's putting me under again, but who fucking cares?
Hellhounds are ancient, infernal creatures that get sixty-six lives. They pop up over and over, respawning from their fangs the same way demons respawn from their horns. The further along hellhounds are in their infernal timeline and the more times they've respawned, the bigger and stronger they get.
Dev was the biggest and strongest of the hellhounds—the oldest. No one was really sure exactly how old he was when he surprised the hell out of everyone by imprinting on me back in hunter training.
But he couldn't have been in his last life. I refuse to believe that. So long as my pal's fangs are sitting in a sack of ash under some charred earth right now, he'll respawn sooner or later.
He has to, because he's all I've got in this world. With all my family six feet under and not even one match from the Seekings I attended before I quit trying, that big teddy bear death machine of a hellhound has become family to me.
I'm not giving up on him, like he never gave up on me.
That's my last thought before darkness rises, dragging me under once again.
1
HEIDI
Four Months Later
Whichever god is in charge of puking, please don't let me do that in front of all these people.
Coming out tonight has officially been one of my worst ideas.
Well, it was partly Jessica's idea. She threatened to spoil the ending of a book series I'm reading that she recommended forever ago if I didn't dip my toe back into society.
But still. A date, when I'm in this condition? No matter how touch-starved I've been for the last eight months, I should've ignored the horny, extroverted goblin inside my head and said no.
Major and minor emotions swirl around me, wafting off of the dozen or so other people chattering inside this casual Italian restaurant. Nausea curls in my gut, my nervous system thrown into mayhem as it's forced to experience all their feelings all at once.
Impatience. Hunger. Satisfaction. Irritation. Lust, wistfulness, emptiness, excitement, boredom, depression, laughter, interest…
The most vibrant, sharp emotion clouding around me is the anxiety coming from a booth two down from mine. There's a couple there—a blond-haired man and a gorgeous woman, both somewhere in their thirties. His anxiety is laced with adrenaline, hope, fear, and plenty of other minor feelings.
Her anxiety is the polar opposite. It's a cold mix of dread, resignation, and slowly building relief I know all too well.
She's about to break up with him.
He's on pretty much the exact opposite page. I watch as he reaches to nervously check a square lump in one of his pockets for the fourth time.
I grimace, already imagining how this night is going to feel for him. I shouldn't butt in, but…come on. The poor guy could use a little warning, right?
